Your Very Own Voice of Reason
by beeskneesDeductions
Summary: As a con on the street, Dirk had to raise Dave to steal and cheat in order to survive. But when the secrets inside Dave's hallucinogenic mind begin to rise up as he's trapped in an ever present evil medical testing corporation, our youngest Strider will find out that the voices in his mind aren't the only ones lying to him. Sole focus on the StriLal family.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: How do plot. So, randomly inspired, began by me sitting in the bathtub, working on OVRCMPNSTN on my iPod, when suddenly Pet by Perfect Circle comes on my mp3. After looping it and looking up the lyrics, I decided "y'know what, I can turn this into something pretty sweet."**

**Would that make this a songfic? Hopefully not, since I interpret the song as the voice/demon in someone's head trying to convince them that everything's okay while they, idk, kill people? And, while voices-that-aren't-there is kind of the bane of this, everything is just completely. Not like the song.**

**Warnings: may contain abuse triggers, contains mentions of prostitution and illegal possession waaaay later on in the story, cotains adult language, contains petty thievery, and uh. I don't know anything else that may be kind of sketchy and thus forewarned.**

**Due to the fact this is a plotted story (nine chapters, if I stick to my planning), this will be the only lengthy A/N. There's only one or two other A/Ns I might type due to plot revelations, but otherwise this is it. Enjoy!**

Dave held his breath, lest the sound of his breathing tipped off the cashier. His pockets weighed down with slim jims and juice boxes, he tried his best to casually place the small slushie on the counter, producing a dollar bill from his wallet.

The cashier, a girl only a few years older than Dave, loudly chewing her gum, barely paid him attention as she rung it up, depositing his—even though the money wasn't his—change into his open hand.

"Have a good day," she said boredly, picking back up her magazine.

Dave left as quickly he could without seeming suspicious.

Once he was a few streets away, he returned to a normal pace, striding with that casual swagger he had been taught to perfect as he greedily drank down the frozen treat. It was ten times easier to rob someone blind when you were charming. Soon, he cut into an alleyway, where a shadow pushed itself off the wall. "I'm assuming you pulled everything off without a hitch, since your dirty hobo ass is here and not in the back of a cop car."

"Naww, Bro, they said they'll let me off if I lead them to the ever-allusive Dirk Strider," Dave replied cooly, sliding a few slim jims out of his jacket and tossing them to Dirk.

Dirk snorted but caught the food with ease, tearing into them almost hungrily. "That's the Dave I know. If they offer you money, accept and let me be found. Not like I can't break out anyway, and then we can split the money."

Dirk was the kind of person who didn't look like he belonged on the street, until you heard him speak. With his silver-blonde hair, his well-cared for anime shades, his orange flannel, and his black skinny jeans, he was more likely to pass as a hipster. When he opened his mouth, however, it was easy for about twenty percent of the city to recognize the voice of a con man. Especially to those who lived on the streets. Dirk Strider was a legend in robbing from the rich and sharing his spoils with the poor.

And he had taken Dave, some scruffy kid who was the prime definition of hobo, under his wing, as a sort of mentor in conning the populace.

Dave couldn't help but glance down at himself after analyzing Dirk yet again, comparing his ratty (and huge) red letterman's jacket (a hand-me-down from Dirk), white record t-shirt (although it couldn't really be called white anymore), faded black jeans (torn and tattered, just like everything else he owned), and red converse (scruffy, but generally well-tended.)

The only thing that Dave had that Dirk hadn't scavenged or given to him, was his aviator shades, which a voice in the back of his head had told him to nab from some corner-store.

_D4V3 YOU 4R3 F1N3 4S YOU 4R3 SO QU1T COMP4R1NG YOURS3LF TO D1RK._

Dave found his lips moving to respond to the voice in his head, though he made sure not to make a sound, lest Dirk chastisied him for responding yet again. "_Shut up, Terezi._"

However, from the sigh that escaped from Dirk, he knew Dirk had seen. "Dave, what the hell are you doing talking to yourself?"

"What. Haha, Bro, very funny."

_Ugh, doooooooouchebaaaaaaaag!_

_JOHN YOU'R3 DO1NG TH3 31GHTS TH1NG 4G41N._

_I think the situation calls for it. More emphasis on the fact that Dirk's a, surprise surprise, douchebag._

"Kid, if you respond, it'll only make it worse because you're acknowledging it. And what if you have to stop in the middle of a robbery to respond, then what?"

'_1T'? W4Y TO GO DOUCH3, W3 H4V3 N4M3S 4ND G3ND3RS, 4SSHOL3._

_I told you!_

Dave rolled his eyes. "It's easier for the police to track me because they only have to ask around for 'some kid who mumbles to themself,'" he recited.

_D4V3 YOU 4R3 SO WH1PP3D._

_Most unnatractive thing ever, dude._

Dirk sighed and stepped forward, ruffling Dave's hair before putting his hand on Dave's shoulder. "Kid, you know I'm doing this because I care for you, right? With all my fuckig heart, more than I care for my own sister."

There was sincerity in Dirk's face. Dave's stomach was crawling with unease; his Bro didn't do this mushy caring crap.

Unless…

As Dirk moved back to lean against his wall, Dave checked his back pocket. "Goddammit, Bro, give me my fucking wallet back."

Dirk dropped the ooey-gooey act and smirked, sliding his right hand ever so casually into his back pocket. "What? I don't know what you're talking about. Maybe if you took any of my advice, you wouldn't be pickpocketed so easily."

"Give it back! I worked hard for that cash!"

_Y3S, D4V3, 1T T4K3S SO MUCH WORK TO ST34L T3N BUCKS OFF OF 4 SOCC3R MOM._

_Dude, just drop the act. Lame McLameypants._

"Nope, my money now. Spoils of war, lil dude."

Dave sighed and gave up, defeated. He'd find the wallet in his hands again in a few days, money spent on beef jerkey and soda, none of which he'd get his hands on.

_Its his way of showing you he's the alpha of the pack, Dave_, John consoled him as Dave and Dirk split ways for a while, Dirk off to seduce nannies in the park and Dave off to take over some school playground, shooing off any parents who thought afterschool was the perfect time to take their children out to play.

Sure enough, just his presence warded off moms in tracksuits and kids in light-up sneakers. Dave sat on the swings, idly swinging back and forth, barely moving the swing a few inches.

_YOU SHOULDN'T TRUST D1RK, D4V3._

"Why not? He puts clothes on my back and keeps me from getting caught."

_Dave, he's the one who puts you in situations where you could get caught._

_1F H3 W4SN'T SO BUSY WOLF1NG DOWN TH3 FOOD YOU BR1NG 1N, YOU WOULDN'T H4V3 TO PUT YOURS3LF 1N PR3C4R1OUS S1TU4T1ONS L1K3 TH4T, D41LY._

Dave rolled his eyes. "Look, my ass would've already been slaughtered God know's when if he hadn't been around all my life. So shut the fuck up, both of you." The two voices sighed in unison, but kept quiet for then.

Sometimes, it was hard for Dave to remember that he was the only sentient one there, and that Terezi and John were just the products of his deluded mind.

[+]

Dave shifted, not opening his eyes as he attempted to get comfortable. Nighttime had fallen and Dirk had met up with him in their usual territory. Dirk was dozing off, leaning against a wall, his legs stretched out in front of him. Dave had his head on Dirk's legs, laying on his side in an attempt to keep various debris from digging into his back.

Two sets of hidden eyes opened behind shades as sirens began to slip into earshot. In one fluid movement, Dirk scooped up Dave and was heading further back in the alley. Dave opened his mouth to protest, but was quickly silenced.

"Go back to sleep, Dave. I'll keep your pansy ass safe."

Dave had to admit that being held was a lot more comfortable than concrete, and soon his eyes slid shut from fatigue.

[+]

_Don't fret, precious, I'm here  
>Step away from the window<br>Go back to sleep  
>Lay your head down child<br>I won't let the boogeyman come  
>Count the bodies like sheep<br>To the rhythm of the war drums_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: This is a really, really short chapter. And I don't really think I can make it any longer because I have a schedule of what plot points are in what chapters. This one is kind of mostly filler. **

**I will tell you this, next chapter is going to be a bit of a doozy. Thought I'd drop an A/N here to apologize for the length of the story so far ):**

Dave was miserable. Given his current living situation, it was not at all shocking that he had contracted food poisoning. Dirk had left at dawn, with promises he'd scrounge up some nausea medication and fever reducers.

_Only took you to throw up all over him._

_CL34RLY, H3 R34LLY C4R3S 4BOUT YOU, D4V3. GOGD4MM3D 1NSUFF3R4BL3 PR1CK._

Dave simply groaned and rolled over, wrapped in his jacket under some park tree. The summer heat was only making his fever worse, but Dirk had been considerate enough to get Dave into some shade. _This is the most sick I've ever fucking been, ever._

A voice he supposed could be his conscious, his voice of reason, something he'd never though he had due to all the other sounds clouding his mind, told him that was wrong. On the rare occaisions it spoke up, Dave always figured it sounded kind of like Dirk. He struggled to remember any time he had been sick. A life of unsanitary conditions led to his immune system becoming as tough as crow's meat. Back in his childhood days, however, it had taken all of Dirk's efforts to keep weak little Dave alive.

Yet, Dave couldn't recall feeling like he was in an oven, one that was violently spinning his entire world around.

Or at least, up until age five. Before then, Dave couldn't dig up a scrap of past. It wasn't uncommon for memories to fade as people aged, but they still had bits and pieces. A favorite toy, a trip to the park, a bad injury remedied by Mommy's kiss. Even with the lack of parental units or a life of plush luxury, Dave literally had no memory. No recollection of why he was alone, no distant memory of previous alleyways he had inhabited. It had literally been like he hadn't existed until then.

Time was fuzzy in those days, but Dave remembered when Dirk had found him. Dave had supposedly only been wearing some seriously torn up clothes, a white and pink t-shirt and some black shorts, the entire ensamble torn and frayed and dirty. According to Dirk and clouded memories, he hadn't known how to speak and barely knew how to walk. Dirk had to literally teach him everything Dave now knows.

Speech was taught by monologinh to Dave, waiting for the kid to pick up on the words. If Dave said the words in the right context or in correlation with the right object, he was rewarded with jelly beans that Dirk snagged from mothers' purses or out of kids' hands. If Dave was wrong, he recieved a slap on the wrist and a very careful explanaition of what he did wrong.

As words became cemented into his life, the voices slowly constructed themselves. As soon as Dirk caught onto the fact that Dave was babbling to himself for reasons beside practicing speech, he began to be reprimanded for speaking to himself. Quickly, Dave caught on and began to build up a barrier between him and the world. On the few occaisions Dave thought about it, he figured that the reason Terezi and John trusted nothing but themselves and each other, was because of his early onset habit of bottling everything up.

Soon, at seven, Dirk asked Dave to provide a distraction while he slipped some money from a mother's purse. Ready to please the only person in his life to give him any attention, Dave lured the mother away by pretending to trip and beginning to scream and cry.

As he progressed through life, he graduated from The Distraction to The Thief. Later on, Dirk began leaving Dave alone for long periods of time, a week or so each occaision, chooshing instead to pursue his own desires while leaving Dave to his own devices. Slowly, Dave formed a connection with the voices in his head. He began to act for himself, following Terezi and John's suggestions and stealing things of pleasure, a pair of Aviators here, a candy bar there.

Terezi and John jad their own means of bending Dave to their will. Terezi could get Dave to do what she wanted by calling him her hero, or Cool Kid, or by stroking his ego. John would attack Dave with half-hearted insults about how lame he was, or how much of an asshole Dirk was. Dave knew he shouldn't have let it happen, but somehow the two had barreled through his brick-wall barrier, and then reinfored the entire thing with steel and a moat, leaving them safely on his side.

He groaned as yet another wave of nausea rolled through.

_Y3S, D1RK 1S SHOW1NG HOW TRUSTWORTHY H1S PROM1S3S 4R3. _

_Dude, why would you expect any more of a con man than for him to abandon you in your time of need?_

"Goddammit, just shut the fuck up," he moaned, rolling onto his stomach, eyes squeezed shut behind his shades, hands clamped over his ears.

As if that would quiet them.

That proved to be his mistake, however, because moments later he found a hand clamped over his mouth, the suffocatingly sharp scent of chloroform filling his nostrils.

[+]

_Pay no mind to the rabble,  
>Pay no mind to the rabble<br>Head down, go to sleep  
>To the rhythm of the war drums<br>Pay no mind what other voices say  
>They don't care about you<br>Like I do_


End file.
